


The Fallout from Rising

by Ophelia_j



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:35:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27712805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ophelia_j/pseuds/Ophelia_j
Summary: So I was going through some files from my old computer a few weeks ago and I found this fic. I remember watching season four of Supernatural, and falling instantly in love with the relationship between Dean and Cas. It was heartwrenching, redemptive, moving, and so beautifully played. When Castiel was demoted from series regular, I didn't watch so much, eventually stopped altogether, and never got back into the show, so I was going to delete this fic, as it's seasons out of date. But then the series finale of Supernatural aired and frankly, I think Dean and Cas fans need all the love they can get right now. So here is my contribution to the fandom, for what it's worth, for all the Dean and Cas fans out there, and everyone else who saw themselves in these two amazing characters.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	The Fallout from Rising

**Author's Note:**

> This was written ten years ago and was my first ever bit of writing, so please don't judge it too harshly. Also, it was written and set during season four, and is therefore set in the very early days of Cas and Dean's relationship, and doesn't incorporate the many changes it's undergone since. Hope you enjoy x

***

 _It_ _was I who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition._

Dean remembered the first time he had heard those words. Standing in an unremarkable barn, on the edge of an unremarkable town, listening to an unremarkable man with a stranger’s face, who was somehow familiar. 

_It was I who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition._

He had heard those words many times since, and felt that touch, in dream after dream. Those were the better dreams – the ones that ended in relief, in rescue, in the presence of an angel. He knew, in his heart, that he would never be free of the _other_ dreams. That there could be no atoning for those sins. 

Dean believed in what you could touch, what you could see, and what you could kill. But that physical scar: the angel’s hand on his shoulder – the brand of the saved - was barely noticeable next to the sensation it had accompanied: the emotion that had seared into his imprisoned soul and liberated it from its self-imposed hell of guilt and terror. When he thought about it – which was as little as possible, yet somehow constantly – Dean suspected that the physical removal of his body from hell had been only part of his rescue by the presence that haunted his dreams. Somehow, that presence had managed in a matter of - what? minutes? hours? days?- to heal the effects of forty years of hell to the extent that Dean was able to once again function in the human world. Sometimes Dean thought perhaps he could ask about that. But he had no idea how to even start framing the question. 

Touched by an angel. The whole situation was ridiculous. It sounded like some terrible daytime tv movie about a family tragedy. And yet Dean wasn’t even remotely amused. When the angel wasn’t around, Dean could almost make himself believe that none of it had ever happened, that it was still just him and Sammy against the demons, plain and simple, for better or worse. But then he would sleep, and dream, and sooner or later, he would appear. His angel. Castiel. 

He wondered what Sam saw in Castiel’s presence, what Sam felt. But that was another question that Dean could never bring himself to ask. It would lead Sam to ask too many questions, and it wasn’t a discussion he could handle right now. He had no idea where to begin to describe feelings that he wasn’t even comfortable acknowledging to himself: that sense of connection, of relief, of safety: of being home in the presence of another. There was nothing in Dean’s experience that even came close. 

Part of his mind was terrified of Castiel. Terrified of the threat he represented to Sam, to Dean himself, and to the world. Uriel, Dean was certain, was dangerous. And yet, however angry his words, however suspicious he was of the angel’s motives: it was always there, lurking disturbingly beneath his conscious awareness: that sense of connection. That link with Castiel. He wondered if Castiel felt anything similar, or if pulling mortals from hell was an everyday occurrence that didn’t even register. He wondered if the angels were even capable of feeling as mortals did. 

Dean had never had much time for emotions and intuitions – he had never had that luxury – that was Sammy’s department. It was one of the things that made them such a great team – Dean, the decisive man of action, and Sammy, the thinker, the bleeding heart and conscience. That was how it had been, anyway. He didn’t recognise those brothers any more. Sam seemed more distant every day: super smart Sam, with his demonic blood and uncontrollable powers that frightened Dean more than he cared to examine. And as for himself? Dean hadn’t recognised the man in mirror for longer than he cared to remember. Hell could do that to a person. 

_‘It was I who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.’_

It had been three months since he had last seen Castiel. Initially, Dean had been glad not to see him: after all, his visits hardly heralded puppies and ponies and trips to the ice cream shop. And a lack of angels made it easier to pretend that things were normal, that everything was back the way it had been two years earlier, before Sam’s death, before Dean’s deal. But now, as the weeks passed, Dean found himself looking out for that face, that dumb trench coat, the physical presence of Castiel’s vessel, and that shimmering, contained power, like the air before a storm, that heralded Castiel himself. 

***

Dean entered the motel room, slammed the door, and threw himself exhausted onto the nearest bed. Sammy had gone for supplies, although where he got the energy from Dean didn’t know. That demon had been a bastard to put down. It seemed to be getting harder. God, he hoped he wasn’t getting old. Belatedly, he remembered that he had managed to get, amongst other unsavoury items, some demon blood on his shirt. Wearily, he righted himself, and started to strip. Which was when the air began to shimmer. 

‘Dean.’ 

‘Jesus, Cas, you couldn’t knock? Wear a bell or something? Changing here.’ Dean did his best to conceal the surge of emotion that had greeted his sense of Castiel’s presence. 

Castiel was unperturbed. ‘Time is of the essence. Lilleth is close to breaking the next seal. We require your assistance.’ 

‘You don’t say.’ Dean’s words came out edgier than he had intended, which only increased his sense of irritation as he grabbed a fresh shirt from his bag. 

‘Is something wrong?’ Castiel didn’t sound too concerned, just eager to get whatever issue this was out of the way and continue with the matter at hand. 

‘Well it’s not like you just pop in to say hi, is it? Pass the time of day? Enquire after our health? Which is fine, by the way,’ Dean waved the demon covered shirt in front of Castiel before pitching it into the corner, ‘hard-ass homicidal demons notwithstanding.’ 

An expression Dean had never seen before shadowed Castiel’s normally imperturbable face. ‘Is that what you would rather I did?’ 

Dean stared. ’What?’ 

‘Pass the time of day, as you put it. Understand: we are fighting a war for our very existence, and that of humanity. However, if you feel my time would be better spent here, then obviously I will leave the front lines to come and hold your hand.’ 

Conflicting emotions warred for supremacy within Dean: anger, shock, embarrassment, but it was the fourth that won out. Meeting Castiel’s gaze, Dean felt himself start to smile, then reluctantly laugh. 

‘Man, for an angel of the Lord, you could give a demon lessons in being pissy. That was great. And I thought angels didn’t experience emotions the way we mud monkeys do.’ 

Castiel dropped his gaze. The air in the room shimmered, and for a moment Dean wondered if, not for the first time, he had pushed his luck too far. Certainly that sentiment voiced to Uriel would have earned him a smiting. Then Castiel met Dean’s eyes and a rare, if small, smile broke across his face. 

‘My apologies. I…we…the war does not go well. But that is not, as you rightly point out, a reason to be…pissy.’ 

‘Hey, don’t worry about it. That was pretty lame, to be honest. You should see me and Sam go at it.’ Dean managed a halfhearted grin. ‘So. What’s the big demon beef this time?’ 

***

Castiel watched as the Winchester brothers salted the grave of the demon sent by Lileth to retrieve this seal. The fight had been long, and hard, but they had been victorious. He had just spoken with them: to acknowledge their victory, and to inform them that they had been mistaken – that this fight had actually been a decoy, a way for Lileth to keep them at bay whilst she went after her real target. This had not gone down well. Castiel had listened to, and acknowledged their anger, then left to return to his brethren. At least, that had been the plan. Instead he was still here, some little distance away, unseen and unnoticed by either of the brothers. 

Perhaps he was simply spending too much time with the Winchesters. Not that he had a choice. This was his assignment and he would stick with it, come –literally- hell or high water. But he had not been prepared for what this proximity to these humans, or one particular human, would do to his unswerving sense of righteousness, of loyalty and of justice. Castiel, to his abiding discomfort, had started to doubt. He had begun to question whether, distant as they were from the day-to-day concerns of these humans, they could truly know what was best for them. 

_And I cannot understand like this. I cannot know. I am what I am and as such, I cannot know how the world feels to them. I cannot ever truly help them without that knowledge. There must be a way. These doubts must be laid to rest._

As he watched the brothers trudge, separate, unspeaking, back to the car, Castiel felt a long-absent certainty settle on him. He knew what he would do, and whom he would ask to help. 

***

‘Anna. Please. I wish to understand.’ 

_Why you?_ Anna thought bitterly. _Of all of us, why you? My radiant, beautiful Castiel._ So fierce in his loyalty, and righteousness, yet so vastly loving. So aware of his obedience to their beloved father, yet so constantly anxious about his role in the war. There were none of them, she thought, who felt this war as deeply as Castiel. None who concerned themselves so much with the human cost. None, save herself, who had spent so much time amongst the humans. And that was why, wasn’t it? His desire for certainty, to understand them in order to know, to be certain that his orders could be followed without the concerns which now weighed his conscience. 

‘Listen to me.’ Anna moved to stand directly before him, ensuring she had his entire focus. ‘What you are suggesting is dangerous, not to mention reckless. Without your grace, you would be as vulnerable as any mortal. We need you now. This is a risk we cannot afford to take.’ 

‘Anna.’ The handsome face of his vessel was earnest, and deadly serious. ‘How can we, how can I, not take this risk? How can we continue to fight this war without truly understanding for whom, and why, we fight? What victory can there be if what is left is a pale shadow of humanity? We must know if, and how, they can survive if our worst fears are realised.’ 

Anna sighed. ‘Even if I were to accept that argument, what about you?’ 

‘I would be careful.’ 

‘I’ve no doubt, but that isn’t what I meant.’ 

Castiel looked at her, frowning slightly ‘What do you mean?’ 

‘Castiel, you have never been without your grace. You have ever known the presence of heaven.’ Anna weighted her words as much as she could. There must be no misunderstanding. ‘Can you imagine what it would be like without it?’ 

For the first time, a flicker of uncertainty darkened Castiel’s eyes, but it was quickly suppressed. ‘But that is precisely why I must do this. I must feel as they feel, see as they see. It is the only way to know. You, of all people, must understand.’ 

‘Which is why I am the only one who can tell you don’t want this.’ Anna waved a hand. ‘It was different for me. I chose to fall. I wanted it. And even then it was hard. You have never longed for anything outside of heaven.’ 

‘And I do not long for it now. Anael, I have no desire to be human.’ Castiel turned away, and watched for a moment as people walked by, busy with their lives: anxious, happy, fearful, laughing people. ‘And I will never want to be other than in the host of our Father. But I must do this. For my own peace of mind, I must do this. It need only be mere moments. But I must know.’ 

For a long moment, he felt Anna watching him. Then she spoke. ‘If it must be done, then I must be the one to do it. One hour, Cas. That’s all.’ 

***

It had not hurt. Not physically anyway. The emotional sensation, on the other hand, had been crippling. It was like someone had reached into his chest, and mind, and removed all sense of security and love. All sense of connection, and brotherhood. 

He had never understood the isolation. They were not connected. They felt apart, all the time. There was no sense of other in their minds. No expansion of self. And worst of all, no grace. No God. It was horrible. And yet, even in the shock of this separation, there was still an echo. Maybe, Castiel considered, it is because I know what it feels like. I know what I am looking for. It was faint now, a shimmering horizon, rather than a radiant dawn. But it was there, that connection, that sense of the divine. Castiel found he had to concentrate hard to feel it, but it was there. Although it was easier simply to see it, to feel it, in another. _This is why they fight so hard for those they love._ _This is why Dean fights so hard for his brother. He sees his grace in Sam._

Since surrendering his grace, this was the closest reflection he had seen. Castiel wondered anew at all he had seen of the Winchester brothers, of all his father’s children. _This is it. This is what they do. This is how they find their grace. In each other._ Finally, Castiel felt the first glimmering of understanding. 

*** 

Castiel waited at the appointed time and place. She was late. That was unusual, to say the least. And Castiel was beginning to experience a number of unfamiliar sensations which he was amusing himself by naming, using his experience with the Winchesters. He was tired, he thought, and cold. He was also starting to feel distinctly irritated with waiting, and something else – what was that feeling? 

He knew it was pointless, but he called anyway. ‘Anna.’ 

‘She is not coming.’ 

Castiel spun around. His mortal senses had given him no clue that there was anyone behind him. Uriel was leaning against a concrete column, watching him with distaste. 

‘Uriel.’ Castiel was more than a little perturbed to see his brother. His agreement with Anna had been that none of the others would be told. Her role had been to remove his grace and conceal that removal until it was restored. Only then would any of the others know. ‘Where is Anna?’ 

‘I’m afraid there’s been a change of plan.’ Uriel moved towards him and Castiel suddenly became aware of how they must feel to humans. They looked mortal, but the sense of contained power was palpable. That emotion he had been struggling to identify earlier came into sharp focus. Fear. 

‘Did you really think I wouldn’t find out about this? That the others wouldn’t find out?’ Uriel was close now, and angry. ‘Do you have any idea how selfish this is? How reckless? You have endangered our entire effort, and for what? To play with the humans, the monkeys, at their level? Are you insane?’ 

‘Uriel…’ Castiel tried to break into the unwavering force of hostility from his former comrade. 

‘Don’t you dare speak to me.’ This was spat at him. Uriel was angrier, more ferocious, than Castiel had ever seen him. ‘You betrayed us. I am here to see you get your just reward. You wanted to live with the humans? Well, you can. For the rest of your pathetically short human existence. Congratulations, _Cas_.’ Uriel used Dean’s nickname for Castiel with a sneer, and venom that encompassed his opinion of its author, and anyone who sympathised with him. ‘You got your wish.’ 

‘Uriel,’ Castiel started to speak. The air in the room started to shimmer. Uriel was leaving. Was abandoning him here. ‘No, w _ait_ . Listen - _Uriel_.’ As if he hadn’t spoken, Uriel snapped out of existence with in a blaze of light so bright Castiel cried out in pain and dropped to his knees, covering his watering eyes. 

Hours later, Castiel sat alone on the concrete ground, his back to the pillar that Uriel had been leaning on when he first appeared. His sight had improved in that time. He was now able to discern distinct shapes and tones, although colours were still muted. _Is that what our true visage does to them? Uriel mustn’t have known. Of course he knew_ , a treacherous part of his mind replied. _It was deliberate._

_They’re not coming back. I have been judged, and found wanting. I am alone._ Castiel forced himself to abandon that train of thought and concentrate. He needed to find a way to exist on this mortal plane. He needed to arm himself. He could still fight for heaven, even without his angelic strength. An echoing rumble caught his attention and he leapt upright, bracing himself for any form of attack. A second rumble followed the first and he recognised the sound, and the sensation. Castiel slumped, feeling a little sheepish. He was hungry. The thought was actually cheering. This was a mortal weakness he could deal with. He had seen this done enough times. Food. That was all he needed. 

***

Clare was tired. It was the end of a long shift, at the end of a long day. The diner was starting to empty, and although the other waitresses were still busy, she had only one remaining customer. She was, however, starting to get concerned that he would never leave. He had been staring at his empty plate, unmoving, for a good few minutes now. _Hurry up_ , she thought. _I have to get home_. Idly running a cloth over the counter, she considered him carefully. Young, good-looking, smartly dressed – if a little square - polite. So far, so good. 

But something in his demeanour was just…wrong. He might look like a stockbroker, or an accountant, but only if that guy had just lost his job and had his wife walk out on him, all in the same day. He seemed to radiate loneliness, and a kind of profound despair that, in spite of her own problems, made her want to walk over and take his hand. Tell him that everything would be all right. Something else was weird too: something wasn’t quite right about his age. He looked young, sure, but there had been a depth in the look that had met hers that belonged to a person much, much older. Almost a kind of agelessness, even. 

And his order. Who ordered pie, and then, twenty minutes later ‘More pie, please’? Especially when he’d devoured the first piece like a man who hadn’t eaten all day. He was, in his quiet way, one of the strangest customers she’d ever seen. 

Joe came up behind her, standing too close as usual, making her jump, and breathing beer fumes on her neck. ‘Is he going to stare at that fucking plate all night? He’s done. Get rid. We need the booth.’ 

Clare bristled, suddenly feeling as if she should defend her quiet customer. It was on the tip of her tongue to point out that as the place was half empty, they didn’t, in fact, need the booth, and he was a paying customer, so he could sit as long as he liked. But she wasn’t stupid, or suicidal, and she badly needed the job. Instead she said ‘Sure. No problem, boss.’ And walked across to the booth. 

***

‘I am sorry; I…had forgotten that payment is required. I have no money.’ 

Clare looked at him, her shoulders sagging. She really didn’t need this right now. The next few minutes played out in her mind. Joe’s aggression, his anger that would be taken out, first on this idiot, and then on her. Not that it was her problem. It was the end of her shift anyway, she could just tell Joe and leave. Leave this guy to bear the brunt of it. Who the hell forgets that meals need to be paid for, anyway? He was high on something, most likely. 

She hardened her stance, ready to announce that she would be informing her supervisor. He had lowered his gaze and was now looking at the table, but his attention was inward – he looked like he was berating himself for something. She knew that look. She saw it in the mirror every morning. She felt her resolve weaken. 

‘Look,’ she began. 

At her gentle tone, he raised his head. Clear blue eyes met hers and her hard won cynicism took a beating. No junkie she’d ever seen had looked like that. She couldn’t sic Joe on this guy. It would be like kicking a puppy. She’d never seen anyone look so completely together, and yet so utterly lost. Dislocated, somehow, as if he’d wandered in from another life. A better life, where diner food was free, and people never got angry. 

‘Just go,’ she said, quietly. 

‘But I have no money,’ he repeated, with a frown of confusion that just made him look even more hopelessly lost. 

‘I’ll square your bill. Just scat before I change my mind.’ Louder, she said, ‘Thanks very much. You have a nice day, now.’ With that, she turned, closing the pouch on her apron with a decisive zip, and strode purposefully back to the bar. In the mirror over the counter, she saw his expression change from confusion to gratitude, and for a terrible moment she thought he might cry. Then he gathered himself and left without a backward glance. 

_I have no money. Shit. Shit._ _God, I’m such a sap_. Clare stood at the counter, indecisive for a moment, and then quickly followed him out of the door. 

‘Hey. Hey, in the mac.’ He hadn’t gone far and Clare quickly caught him, rummaging in her pockets as he turned to face her. 

‘Look, I don’t know what your deal is, but I know you’re not a bad person. And somewhere there must be people who care about you. Take my advice, okay? Just go home. Whatever it is, it will be okay. Go home.’ She pressed two twenty-dollar bills into his hand. He stared at her in stunned silence for a moment, then said, ‘Thank you.’ His voice was not quite steady, and Clare imagined, although she didn’t have the courage to look, that he might really have been crying this time. She turned and ran back to the diner. 

*** 

‘What is she doing here?’ Dean Winchester was not, in general, a morning person, and the likelihood of his happy-go-lucky, days-of -wine-and-roses cheery side being to the fore was diminished exponentially when his first sight upon waking was Ruby at the door of their motel room. 

Ruby strode into the room, past a clearly anxious Sam. ‘Look, don’t start, okay, sport? I’m trying to be of assistance. Again. Some more. And frankly the attitude is starting to wear a little thin.’ 

‘Aw, really? Only a little?’ Dean swung himself out of bed. ‘I’m clearly not trying hard enough.’ 

‘Dean.’ Sam threw him a genuinely irritated glare. 

Ruby pursed her lips. ‘Okay. Fine. I’ll just go, and you can leave your pet angel to rot in hell with all the other poor souls, as he undoubtedly will, when they find him.’ She turned on her heel. 

‘Whoa.’ Dean, wide-awake now, vaulted the bed to put himself between Ruby and the door. ‘Back up a second.’ 

Ruby folded her arms. ‘I thought that might get your attention.’ 

‘Which angel? Do you mean Castiel?’ This from Sam. 

‘It’s just a rumour. I’m not sure of anything yet.’ 

‘Well,’ Dean was shooting for calm, and patient, and falling badly short on both counts, ‘What is it, exactly, you’re not sure of?’ 

*** 

Ruby’s information had been sketchy, but worrying enough. Rumour had reached her that an angel had fallen, and had been abandoned by his kind on Earth. Her source, relating this as the least likely of many unlikely stories currently doing the rounds, had particularly enjoyed passing on the description of the so-called angel. 

‘Trench coat. Suit. As if. I ask you. Is upstairs hiring plain clothes cops these days? Has Columbo joined the ranks of the seraphim? They must be desperate.’ 

Ruby had laughed along, and then as soon as possible, got out to find the Winchesters. 

Which had led said Winchesters to their current situation. Attempting, once more, to summon an angel. Admittedly, Dean’s method this time was a little less sophisticated than Bobby’s original spectacular summoning symbols and traps which he had optimistically assumed would hold Castiel, before they had discovered his true nature. 

‘Uriel. _Uriel_.’ Dean was shouting the place down. ‘URIEL.’ 

‘I do not answer to any….mortal. And especially not to one such as you.’ The icy voice from behind them made both brothers start. They turned. 

Dean recovered fast. ‘And yet, here you are.’ 

'Where is Castiel?'

‘You needn’t concern yourselves. I removed all information from his mind that might potentially threaten us or our victory.’ 

Dean crossed the distance to Uriel in two strides, and stopped inches from his face. ‘I don’t give a fuck about you, or your victory,’ he snarled, ‘I’m gonna ask again: _where is Castiel?_ ’ 

Sam moved to them. ‘Dean. Back off.’ He looked quickly to Uriel, expecting to see the angel’s barely concealed rage laid bare, and directed at right at his brother. 

The expression on Uriel’s face brought him up short. He was toweringly angry, yes, frustrated, impatient, and…something else. Something that had stopped him killing Dean on the spot. Confused? Wary? Surprised? Whatever it was, it had saved Dean’s life. 

Uriel stared down at Dean, and spoke in a low, measured tone. ‘You would threaten me. Risk your life. In a doomed attempt to help him. Why?’ 

Sam looked from one to the other, thinking fast. How long Uriel would be checked without Castiel’s calming influence was anyone’s guess. Uriel moved around Dean, examining him like a laboratory specimen that had produced an unexpected result under duress. 

‘You know I could kill you. You know I could send you back to hell.’ 

The bald statement of the blindingly obvious, forgotten in the heat of his anger, brought Dean up short, and took some of the edge off his rage, but not his desperation. 

Sam said, ‘Look, he was your brother, your fellow soldier. If you can’t interfere, then at least let us help. What harm can it do?’ 

Uriel was still staring at Dean in a way that closed a cold hand around Sam’s heart. 

‘You didn’t answer my question.’ 

Dean frowned. ‘Question?’ 

Uriel spat it like a curse, inches from Dean’s face once more. ‘ _Why?_ ’ 

Sam stared at his brother. The atmosphere in the room was so tightly balanced he could barely breathe. _Make this good, Dean_. 

Dean could suddenly feel his heart, hammering in his chest. The fear, suddenly, was not for Castiel, or for Sam, or for his life, which he knew even now was tight in Uriel’s unforgiving grip. This was fear of something else. After all these years hunting with Sam, after everything they had been through, one thing had remained constant: Dean’s level of discomfort with his deepest, most private emotions. Confessing his feelings, whatever they might be: despair, pain, grief, and even - no, _especially_ \- love, was anathema to Dean. It was weakness, humiliation. Good soldiers didn’t cry. And if they did, they certainly didn’t talk about it. Even Sam, who he held dearer than his own life, who he had gone to hell for; even Sam was protected from Dean’s emotions, as least as much as he possibly could. 

And Dean could not imagine anyone else on earth, or in heaven for that matter, whom he would want to have this conversation with less than the sneering warrior angel in front of him. What could he possibly say? How could he explain to Uriel why this was so important, when he didn’t even know himself? 

_He raised me from perdition. I owe him. When I dream, I dream of hell, and the only comfort is his presence. Because then I know I’m safe. It’s over. They can’t hurt me any more. And I can’t hurt them. I’m safe from them. And I’m safe from myself._

_I was lost. And he found me. He reminded me how to feel when I was too afraid. Too afraid to feel something other than sadistic pleasure, something other than pain, and fear, and despair. God knows there are days when I hate him for it. When the guilt is so strong I wish he had left me there. But if he dies, then it’s all gone. There’s no safety. There’s no presence of peace, no sense of anything greater than this. There’s nothing left between me and the darkness. I need him. Please._ S _ave him._ _God, please_. 

Dean took a shaky breath. ‘Look, I…’ 

Uriel stepped away from Dean as if struck. So fast that both Winchesters started. 

‘We will continue this conversation at a later date.’ It was unmistakably a threat. ‘In the meantime, and for all the good it will do you,’ Uriel crossed to Sam, flicked through the town plan, and pointed to a page, ‘I left him here.’ 

***

The Impala screeched to a halt outside one of the seedier looking shops in the immediate vicinity. Sam and Dean stared out of the windscreen at their less than salubrious surroundings. 

‘Oh hell. This is not good.’ Sam looked disconsolate. 

Dean grimaced. ‘Not quite. But yeah, not good. We’d better split up. He’ll be so freakin’ clueless, the sooner we find him the better. Which side of the street do you want? Dodgy looking tattoo parlours or even dodgier looking sex shops?’ 

‘Oh, the agony of choice.’ Sam looked out of the window at the people on the street, lounging in doorways and leaning on the walls with the studied casualness of nefarious intent. Some of the younger male residents were already eyeing the car. Some of the younger female residents were eyeing its occupants. It was a mark of Dean’s concern, thought Sam, that he was even contemplating leaving the Impala alone in such a neighbourhood. 

As if reading his mind, Dean added ‘Neither one of us gets out of sight of the car, yeah?’ 

‘You’ll get no argument here.’ 

‘Right. Let’s go.’ 

***

Twelve and a half fruitless hours later, the Winchester brothers returned to the motel in varying states of tension and frustration. 

‘Nothing. No-one saw anything. We must have canvassed ten freaking city blocks and nothing. How can someone just vanish into thin air?’ Dean threw his weapon bag onto the bed in frustration. 

‘We’ll try again tomorrow.’ Sam tried to sound hopeful. 

‘What’s the point?’ Dean’s jaw was tight. ‘He’s probably already dead. If he’s lucky. If not demons, then just some punk looking to score.’ 

‘Dean. We’ll find him. We just need one break – some pointer to where he might have gone. For all we know, he’s looking for us.’ Sam opened his mouth to voice further reassurance, trying desperately to pierce the strengthening gloom and guilt that was seizing his brother. His efforts were interrupted by a sharp rap at the door, followed by an unceremonious flinging open. 

Dean glared as Ruby entered. ‘Oh hi, just in time to join the search, I see. Thanks for all your help today, by the way. Oh _wait_ , that’s right: you just freakin’ disappeared and left us to it.’ 

‘Hey, I never claimed to be angel boy’s biggest fan. And in case you didn’t notice the antipathy is mutual. I can’t imagine him busting a gut to help me, can you?’ 

Dean’s lack of reply seemed to satisfy her, and she continued. ‘But as it happens, and because I’m such a sucker for hard luck cases’ she threw them both a glance ‘I did manage to get a lead on your missing heaven-spawn.’ 

‘Where is he?’ Sam moved to Ruby. 

‘According to my sources, he’s not far. There’s a nest of demons two miles out of town. Rumour has it that a fetching accountant-type came afoul of some hunting demons last night and got taken. ’ Ruby looked at Dean’s suddenly ashen face, and continued with a little more sympathy in her voice. ‘It’s not as bad as it sounds.’ 

Sam looked at her in disbelief. ‘Explain to me how this is not as bad as it sounds. A nest of demons? They’re probably sacrificing him as we speak. Or making some sort of deal with Lileth.’ 

‘They’re small time. Seriously. Demons aren’t known for their sociability as a general rule’ she waited an almost infinitesimal pause, as if waiting for a wisecrack, and when none was forthcoming, continued ‘and these guys stick together for a reason. They’re none of them strong enough alone. There have only been a few abductions in this town over the past few years. My guess is they take people to feed on and keep them alive for as long as possible.’ 

‘Great.’ Sam sounded positively enthused. ‘Get in, take ‘em down, pull Cas out. Nothing we haven’t done before, right?’ This to Dean, who was staring at Ruby. 

Ignoring Dean’s ominous silence, she continued. ‘And we have one other advantage. They don’t know what they have. There hasn’t been a sniff of major demon activity in this area. If anyone important knew there was a fallen angel in the game, we’d be up to our eyes in trouble by now and Lileth right behind. Our only chance at pulling this off is to get him out before they realise what they’ve got.’ 

‘How do we know this isn’t a trap?’ Dean’s voice was tight, and cold. 

Sam stared at him. ‘Dean, she’s trying to help.’ 

‘Your faith is touching, Sam.’ Dean moved to Ruby and jabbed a finger at her heart. ‘You had better be telling the truth. And he’d better be okay.’ Dean grabbed his bag and headed for the car. ‘Let’s go.’ 

Ruby watched him leave, looking more concerned than offended. ‘He really cares about this guy, doesn’t he?’ 

‘Castiel raised him from hell. I think it created…. a bond, of sorts. I don’t really know.’ A shadow crossed Sam’s handsome face. ‘He doesn’t talk about it.’ 

‘Just watch yourself, that’s all. Don’t let him be too influenced by them. You think demons are bad? At least you know where you are with them. At least they don’t pretend to be holier than thou and full of the love of God and shit.’ Catching Sam’s expression, she sighed. ‘Just keep an eye on him, okay? You think betrayal by a demon is bad? Imagine betrayal by an angel. Lucifer was one of them once.’ 

Before Sam could formulate a reply the sound of the Impala’s engine gunning to life sent them racing towards the car. Dean barely waited for them to slam the doors before flattening his foot to the floor. As they screeched out of the parking lot, he side-eyed his brother.

‘No demon mojo, Sammy, okay?’ 

***

‘Leave me be.’ The demon had his hand around Castiel's neck, blade to his throat. He growled. ‘Leave me be or I will kill him.’ 

Sam raised a hand. As one, Dean and Castiel shouted. ‘Sam, _no_.’ 

The demon, unnerved, took advantage of their distraction to create the only other distraction he could think of. He took the blade from Castiel’s throat and drove it cleanly through his chest. 

Dean heard someone shout out, as if from a distance away, and then he was moving across the space that separated him from the falling body of Castiel. From the corner of his awareness he saw the demon flee from the room, and saw Sam and Ruby sprint after him. Then he was at Castiel’s side, throwing himself to the ground, and pressing his hands to the wound. 

Castiel met his gaze, and Dean saw fear there, a sight somehow worse than the wound itself. 

‘I have never died. I have always wondered…’ Castiel’s voice was weakening by the moment. 

‘You’re just wounded, okay? You’ll be fine. Sam’ll be back in just a sec and we’ll get you to a hospital.’ 

Castiel forced a smile. ‘Dean. I have seen mortal wounds. Many times. I….’ 

‘You’re going to be fine.’ Dean gripped Castiel’s hand, holding on so tight he could feel the weakening pulse. Desperation and creeping despair fuelled his next words. ‘Just hang on Cas. Just hold on. Please. Look, I…I need you, okay?’ 

Castiel’s focus had been beginning to drift, but this brought his gaze back to Dean’s. ‘I am sorry. It was never my intention to abandon you. I have been foolish.’ 

Dean felt the agonisingly familiar stab of guilt. ‘No, this is my fault. If you hadn’t saved me….’ 

‘ _No_.’ This was said with a firmness, an echo of the old angelic power. ‘Listen to me, Dean. Raising you from hell was the greatest task I performed for my Father. I was honoured to be chosen, and to have saved you.’ Castiel drew a laboured breath. ‘And even if He had not asked, I would still have been honoured. That you are who you are, is all the reward I could seek.’ 

Dean’s throat constricted, preventing him from replying. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was aware that his cheeks were wet. 

A shadow darkened Castiel’s face. He drew an agonised breath. ‘Since I surrendered my grace, I have not felt the presence of my Father so strongly. I am…afraid.’

‘You have nothing to fear.’ The sincerity in Dean’s words surprised even himself. 

Castiel looked at him in wonder. ‘You sound so certain.’ 

‘I don’t know heaven, Cas. I don’t know God. But I know you. Any place, any Father, that sends you to this world would never leave you here. You belong there. I am certain of that.’ 

Those incredible eyes met his for a final time, suddenly unafraid. 

***

‘Dean.’ 

Dimly, Dean became aware of his surroundings. He was still sitting on the rotten floor of the back room, still holding the body of Castiel. He had no idea how much time had passed. Blinking he looked up, to see Sam, and beside him, her hand in his, Ruby. She was looking at Dean with an expression of sympathy he wouldn’t have credited her with being able to feel. 

‘Dean?’ Sam tried again. ‘We need to go.’ 

***

Almost a month had passed since that day. They had moved on, buried the body. Sam and Ruby had scared up another demon hunt almost immediately. If Dean had been remotely interested in analysing their motivation, he would have thought they were trying to distract him from something. It wasn't working. Dean sat on the bed, staring at the muted television. 

He wondered why Ruby was sticking around. He knew he should object, but his heart just wasn’t in it. The look on her face when he had met her gaze over the crumpled body of Castiel had bought her a little credit in his estimation. And she had, after all, tried to help. 

Dean had been half expecting another heavenly visitation. Uriel, this time, or Anna. A scolding. Maybe even a smiting. Chew them out for losing an angel. Assign them another task. But there was nothing. It was as if, with the death of Castiel, their line to heaven had been cut. It was probably for the best, Dean considered. He couldn’t be held responsible for his actions if he set eyes on Uriel any time soon. Or ever. 

That was when he felt it. A beating of the air. The shadow of unseen wings that spanned the room. Dean remembered the first time he had seen Castiel. That unremarkable barn. That same shadow. _Oh, please God._ He shot to his feet and stared around. The familiar sense of controlled power, of infinite grace, and that light, coalesced into the figure of a man. The air seemed to settle and the shadow of the wings folded to meet the seemingly normal shadow of the man. 

Castiel looked unchanged. Every fold of the coat was in place, and no stain of blood marred the handsome face of his vessel. He met Dean’s stunned gaze and smiled. A genuine, unCastiel-like smile of pleasure. 

‘Dean.’ 

Dean stared dumbly as Castiel walked over to him. Somehow, his mind was telling him, this is a trick. Don’t get excited, don’t get happy, because any minute now the other shoe will drop and you’ll wake up. Or the shape shifting demon will appear. Or something shitty will happen. Because it always does. 

Castiel stopped in front of Dean and regarded him seriously. Dean stared at him, frozen to the spot, as if any movement would shatter the illusion. For a long moment, Castiel stood as if waiting for a reaction. When none was forthcoming, he reached out a hand and ruffled Dean’s hair. 

‘ _Hey_. What the _hell_?’ The spell of the moment was instantly broken. Dean instinctively reached up to restore some semblance of order. ‘Not the hair. Do you mind?’ 

‘Real enough for you?’ That smile was still playing around Castiel’s lips. ‘Perhaps you should break out the holy water. Just to be certain.’ 

‘Why? Work on angels, does it?’ 

‘No.’ That was definitely a smile. 

Dean stared at the figure in front of him. ‘What the hell happened to you? They give you a sense of humour when you got your angelic mojo back?’ 

'I will have you know, I am the wittiest of my brethren.' Castiel's face was almost teasing. 

Dean opened his mouth. There was a joke here. Something about the competition not being steep, or - but he couldn't hear it over the beating of his heart. Couldn't force it past the sudden constriction in his throat. All that came was, 'I thought - you were dead.'

'I was. Briefly. Then, heaven heard - you.’ 

Dean started, immediately uncomfortable. ‘What?’ 

‘Your prayer.’ 

‘I didn’t pray.’ 

‘Whether or not you were aware of it, that is what you were doing.’ Castiel looked down, as if suddenly overwhelmed by an emotion Dean could not identify. 

‘You prayed. For me.’ He looked up again, and the expression on his face was one Dean had never seen there before: gratitude, and a deep affection. Dean felt his breath catch, and found himself unable to speak. 

Castiel continued, seemingly unaware of the effect his words were having. ‘No-one has ever prayed for me before. People pray to me, not for me, if they think of me at all. They do not concern themselves with my well-being. Yet it was important to you. In defiance of heaven. At risk of hell. It was important - to you.’ 

Dean dropped his gaze. He couldn’t bear to look at that expression any more. That look on Castiel’s face, he didn’t deserve. It had been selfish. He had just wanted this. This presence, back in his life. This feeling of being watched over, of being safe. Intellectually, it made no sense. Castiel had a war to fight. It wasn’t like he was going to leave the fight to get Sam and Dean out of some mess – they were as much on their own now as they had ever been. But it helped, somehow. Just knowing he was out there, fighting the same fight. It helped. 

‘Look, it’s fine. Don’t make a big issue.’ Dean couldn’t keep his voice entirely under control, and he mentally kicked himself. He waited for Castiel to change the subject, or disappear without warning. To do any of the things Dean was used to. But he didn’t. Even without lifting his eyes from the floor, Dean knew that Castiel was still watching him, could sense that his expression hadn’t changed. 

_Cas_ _, just leave. Please._ _I’m so tired. I can’t - cope with this_. Mentally he willed Castiel to disappear. To bring up Lilleth. To declare the earth to be in immediate mortal peril. To do anything but continue to stand there, looking at him. 

‘Dean?’ Without looking Dean correctly guessed that the only change in Castiel’s posture had been a slight head tilt to one side. Irrationally, Dean felt a flare of anger. _Now? You pick now to take an interest? To stick around for the deep and meaningfuls?_

And then Castiel did move. He stepped in front of Dean and gripped him gently by the shoulders, his right hand covering its matching scar in a gesture so unexpectedly intimate and familiar that Dean felt his throat constrict. 

_Goawaygoawaygoawaygoaway._ Dean felt his control start to slip, and he wanted to run. To shove Castiel away and sprint for the door. But he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Anything now might break him. 

‘ _Dean_.’ So gentle. This was why people really feared angels. Not that smiting crap. It was this side that was really frightening. That sense of a love so strong and unconditional that it could break you right in half. A love you could never be worthy of, no matter what you did, no matter how hard you tried. 

‘ _You **are** worthy_.’ Dean had no idea how Castiel had known what he was thinking, but it didn’t matter. Something inside broke, and he began to sob. Great heaving cries that came from so far inside he couldn’t begin to sense them, and followed each other like an avalanche, tripped by the tiniest whisper. Instinctively he reached forward, a boy in need of comfort. Castiel immediately moved closer and wrapped his arms tight around Dean’s chest. 

Dean had no idea, afterwards, how long they had stood like that, how long he had dampened the shoulder of Castiel’s jacket with tears, how long the angel had simply held him. 

And it wasn’t humiliating. Or weakness. It was simply what needed to be. 

***

Nearly a month later, the Winchesters were taking a well-earned lunch break in their usual travel choice of seedy motel, when the air began to shimmer. Dean felt a part of himself tense, and wait for the inevitable influx of shame or embarrassment. After all, the last time he had seen Castiel, he had cried on the angel’s shoulder like a child. But, to his surprise, there was nothing. No embarrassment, no shame; no compunction to greet Castiel’s arrival with anything other than genuine pleasure. Before his conscious mind was even aware he had moved, Dean walked over and embraced Castiel, holding the angel tight. Surprise and pleasure warred for dominance in Castiel’s expression, but his response – to raise his arms and hug back, just as tight, was immediate. 

Sam, who had been about to take his first bite of a sandwich when Castiel shimmered into being, stopped in mid gesture, hand frozen in the air, to stare in disbelief. Nevertheless, he was the first to break the silence. 

‘Uh….hi, Cas.’ 

Castiel released his grip on Dean and turned to Sam, favouring him with one of his rare smiles. ‘Hello Sam.’ 

Dean walked back and slipped into his chair opposite Sam, continuing his lunch as if absolutely nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred. Castiel, with ease in their presence that was as unusual as it was welcome, followed him across the room and perched on the edge of the bed nearest to the table. 

‘So,’ Sam continued, feeling an unaccountable desire to keep talking to cover the sudden awkwardness he felt, ‘what’s up? Anything big going down we should know about.’ 

‘Not that I am aware of.’ Castiel was watching with interest as Dean ate his sandwich. 

‘Oh. Right.’ _So why are you here?_ was the next thought to cross Sam’s mind, but it sounded rude even in his head. 

Dean, aware of Castiel’s gaze, broke off the opposite end of his sandwich. ‘Want to share?’ 

Sam felt as if he had crossed into some weird parallel universe. One in which Dean went around hugging people, and sharing his food. 

That smile was back. ‘I do not require food.’ 

Dean grinned. ‘Hell, Cas. Nobody _requires_ pie. Nobody _requires_ beer. They’re just…awesome.’ 

‘I have eaten pie. It was…most agreeable.’ 

‘When did you eat pie?’ Sam stared, openly curious. 

‘Yeah,’ Dean added, ‘And how come you didn’t share?’ 

***

Clare woke to the sound of moaning from the next room: a quiet, ineffably sad keening that rose and fell. She was up and moving towards the door before she was even fully conscious. _I’m coming, mom_. 

She slumped next to the bed and held her mother’s hand, making shushing, comforting noises. Her mom had been crying again. Her grey, hollow cheeks were wet. Clare felt tears start to her own eyes. She was just so _tired_ . ‘You couldn’t let me have one night, could you? Not one _damn_ night.’ She stared down bitterly at her mother’s wasted face, unable to ascertain which of them she hated more right now. _Oh God_ , she thought _. I wish my own mother were dead. I’m a terrible, horrible person_ . She did start to cry then, tears running down her cheeks and pooling on the thin bedclothes. _God help me._

‘Clare Barran’ 

The sound of her own name, spoken aloud in her otherwise empty apartment in the middle of the night, should have filled her with panic. Instead she merely looked around, blinking, for the source of the sound. A man was standing at the foot of her mother’s bed. She squinted at him in confusion. 

‘Hello.’ In the circumstances, it wasn’t the right thing to say, but she was just too weary to be afraid. ‘Who are you?’ 

He moved a little, into the light from the doorway, and she saw him clearly. _It’s the guy from the diner. The sad stockbroker._ Only he wasn’t that guy anymore. Even through her haze of exhaustion and grief she could tell: whatever had been bothering him was resolved. He practically radiated certainty. 

He spoke, the same gentle, reassuring voice that had spoken her name. ‘I have a debt to repay.’ 

‘What?’ 

‘You helped me when I was in need.’ 

_The money? Is that why you’re in my apartment in the middle of the night?_

‘That’s okay. It’s fine. Honestly. You can keep the money.’ She was finding it hard to take her eyes off him. There was just something about him – the way the air in the room seemed to grow stiller in his presence. 

He walked to her side. Gently he reached down and touched her mother’s forehead. Immediately her mother relaxed, her breathing becoming regular, her sleep deepening. The hollows in her cheeks seemed to fill out, and her pallor became more natural, closer to Clare’s own. 

He addressed Clare gently. ‘I cannot give her more time. She will die at her appointed hour. But there will be no pain. No confusion.’ 

Tears were starting to form again at the corners of Clare’s eyes. She looked up at him in wonder. 

‘Who are you?’ 

Castiel began to reply, to say that it was irrelevant; to deflect her enquiry and leave as abruptly as he had arrived. Then something on the far wall caught his eye. A shape outlined in light against the darker shade of the rest of the wall. Two perpendicular lengths of wood; one long, one short. An article of faith long since discarded. A flame of hope long since dampened in the despairing minutiae of everyday life. And yet not entirely extinguished. 

He looked down at Clare and said simply, ‘I am an angel of the Lord.’ 

*** 

The familiar feeling of shimmering air surrounded the car. Dean, leaning over the engine, almost banged his head on the bonnet in an effort to be upright. 

‘Hi Cas.’ Dean wiped his hands on a rag, and prepared to lower the hood of the Impala. ‘Okay. Where do you want us?’ 

Castiel blinked. ‘I’m sorry?’ 

‘Me and Sam. You’d better tell me – Sam’s with Bobby, I’ll have to call him, get him over here, finish up with the car.’ Dean was talking quickly as he put the Impala’s engine back into working order. ‘Look, maybe it would be better if Sam met me there.’ Suddenly aware of Castiel’s unresponsiveness, Dean looked up, to see the angel regarding him with that rare almost-smile. 

‘How is your vehicle?’ 

Dean stared ‘What?’ 

‘You have disassembled parts of the engine that are required for functionality. It appeared to be working adequately. Is there a problem?’ Castiel had moved to join Dean in front of the Impala and was now examining the engine with all the appearance of mechanical know-how. 

‘Uh, no.’ Dean gestured half heartedly at the engine ‘It just needed a spring clean, you know. The old girl was running a bit rough.’ 

‘I see. This engine is in remarkable condition for a vehicle of this age.’ 

‘Okaaay. What gives? What’s going on? Has Lilleth found a mechanical seal?’ 

‘Not that I am aware of.’ Castiel continued his perusal of the engine. 

‘Then, and I don’t mean to be rude or anything here, Cas,’ Dean rubbed a hand awkwardly through his hair, ‘but what are you doing here?’ 

Castiel straightened and looked at him with surprise, as if his intent should have been obvious. ‘I am…passing the time.’ His habitually serious expression ended any notion that this was any kind of elaborate joke. 

‘You’re - passing the time.’ Dean repeated, dumbly. 

‘Yes. Would this be an appropriate juncture for me to also enquire after your health?’ Castiel’s expression didn’t change, but Dean was almost sure he saw a flicker of humour in those blue eyes. 

Dean stared at the angel for a moment longer, a smile beginning to tug at the corners of his mouth. ‘You know, I think that can wait. For now there are more pressing matters at hand.’ He gestured grandly to the Impala. ‘Getting this baby back into tip top shape, for one.’ 

‘I see.’ Castiel stared intently at the offending engine, and raised a hand. Dean felt the shimmer in the air intensify, a sensation that signalled a build up of angelic power. 

Dean grabbed Castiel’s wrist. ‘ _Whoa_. What are you doing?’ 

Widened eyes met his. ‘I am cleaning the engine.’ 

‘Not like that. Don’t be getting your angelic mojo all over my wheels.’ Dean lowered his hand, and gestured to the car. ‘This baby requires time, attention, care – not some heavenly zapping. If you want to help, take this’ he shoved a rag into Castiel’s hand, ‘and clean that.’ This was accompanied by a stab at the distributor cap 

Castiel looked at the rag, the engine, and back at Dean. ‘This is somewhat inefficient.’ 

‘Trust me. It’s the only way.’ 

Serious blue eyes met his. ‘I trust you, Dean.’ The intense expression softened with one of those rare half smiles. ‘I am sure this car maintenance experience will come in useful one day.’ 

Dean grinned. ‘Yeah – that’s exactly what you angels are missing – a seriously cool set of wheels. None of this flying crap. I can just see Uriel as a hell’s angel.’ Dean stopped. ‘Wait. I didn’t mean…’ 

Castiel stopped cleaning and turned his habitually serious gaze on Dean. ‘I think it most appropriate.’ 

For a moment, Dean stared. The amused expression that Castiel was failing to hide took him by surprise. Then he started to laugh. 

***


End file.
